


I'm a Stitch Away from Making it, and a Scar Away from Falling Apart

by iamshirelocked



Category: Fall Out Boy, The Youngblood Chronicles (Music Video)
Genre: F/M, I am so sorry, Torture, everyone is sad, false promises, friendships, my oc is sad, patrick is sad, pete is a clueless idiot, prisoners of courtney's cult, they talk about food a lot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-27
Updated: 2016-01-27
Packaged: 2018-05-16 17:17:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,197
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5833954
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/iamshirelocked/pseuds/iamshirelocked
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He was less than a foot from her, and the paranoia that had already built up in Katherine’s stomach flashed red warning lights in her head. He could attack at any moment. 'You should get up and run as far away as you can. Hurry!', she thought.<br/>But then the sirens dimmed, and Katherine could hear a faint sobbing overpowering the fear in her conscience. Her breathing slowed to a steady inhale, a steady exhale. The sirens’ volume lowered, the sobbing becoming louder. Eventually, the sirens came to a halt, and Katherine came to the realization that Patrick was sobbing. Why was he sobbing?</p>
            </blockquote>





	I'm a Stitch Away from Making it, and a Scar Away from Falling Apart

Pain.

It erupted from her forearm, filled her pounding head, pumped through her veins. It was the only thing she knew since coming there. It was the only thing she would know until she gave into their fights and kicks. They wanted to obliviate her of the morals she once held dear, making her one of them.

They had yet to do so. But they refused to give up. They would maul her until she agreed to ‘silence the noise’ and join their sick, sick cult.

The sudden sound of a slamming door and the clicking of a lock had the girl curling into a fetal position. Through her eyelids, the faint light that once filtered through vanished as if it had never been there. She was alone. Alone to think about what she had done, what she believed, what would become of her if she didn’t give in soon. The only thing good about being alone was that she could be herself. Be her weak, damaged little self. She could cry, let her emotions out. Rest her wounds, sleep. Oh, how she loved sleep. It was the closest thing to death that she could have.

But, she wasn’t alone.

“H-hello?”

Her breathing quickened, and she let out a sniffle. Her eyes opened. Was someone else there? Or…had she finally gone insane?

“Hello?” The voice repeated, and she blinked her eyes a few times. It was pointless; the lack of light wouldn’t allow her to see a figure. She shifted, placing her bruised palms against the tear-stained concrete. She painfully heaved herself up and craned her head around.

“Is anyone there?” The girl didn’t remember the last time she had said actual words. Her voice had a raspy tone. It reverberated off the four walls, her stomach twisting itself into knots. Maybe they had put someone in here to torture her further--she had taken the longest out of all of her band members to brainwash…they were probably getting desperate and--

“Um…yeah. I-I’m here.”

She could hear his heavy breathing, but couldn’t make out his figure in the inky darkness. “W-who…are you?”

The voice didn’t reply.

“Are you one of them?” Her vocal chords strained to ask.

“N-no. No, no.”

“Then, who are you?”

Her voice must have been quiet--a whisper--because she heard a shifting. Something in her gut told her whoever owned that voice was coming closer, and she used what little strength she had left in her legs to backpedal herself against the wall. The sudden impact caused her to let out a whimper.

“What? Sorry, I couldn’t hear you.” The voice was a bit louder now.

“W-who are you?”

“O-oh! I’m Patrick...Patrick Stump.”

A wave of nostalgia hit her. Wasn’t Patrick Stump from that one band that Sophia liked? Her face contorted, thinking of Sophia. The guitarist, one of her best friends, had been the first to give in to the cult.

“F-from Fall Ou-out Boy?”

“Yeah.”

It went silent. She picked at her short-clipped nails, bit her chapped lips. She took a deep breath, not knowing what to say. She hadn’t talked to anyone in a long, long time. In her opinion, there wasn’t really anything to talk about. Other than complaining about the pain she was going through (which would only cause her more pain), her life hadn’t changed much. The only memories she had left were of this place.

“What’s your name?”

That was the question. Her name. It was something she hadn’t had to use or know for months. Something that had could have been forgotten just as easily as she had forgotten her own family. Her childhood. Her name was one of the things her brain had stored away in the permanent section, right next to her morals and emotions.

“Katherine...I think…” It rolled off of her tongue in a weird way. She guessed it was because she hadn’t used it in so long. It could have been a fake memory, or her mom’s name that she had held onto for some reason.

“What do you mean, ‘I think’?”

“I guess…I guess I just don’t know what’s real anymore.”

Patrick didn’t reply--probably pondering what she said. She began to wonder why he was there. Had he joined them? Probably not…he still referred to himself as a part of his band. Was he a prisoner, someone they would brainwash, like her?

“Are you a prisoner, too?”

He chuckled slightly, and she could practically imagine his eyebrows furrowing in thought. “Yeah, I guess I am.” He choked out a dry laugh. “They want me to join them.”

“That’s what they do to all of their p-prisoners. Brainwash them.” She shook her head, choking out the lines. “Torture them, b-breaking them until they can’t even think straight anymore.” Her eyes squeezed shut, and the girl managed a stuttering breath. “They...they want the whole world to hate music.”

“Why?”

A sob caught itself in her throat, and she let a tear stream down her cheek. “I don’t know.” She sniffled again, a sharp pain shooting up her side. “I don’t know.”

\--OoO--OoO--OoO--

The only sound in the room was the steady tapping of Patrick’s foot. Katherine wanted it to stay that way. She wanted to use this time to think over everything, to live in the quiet, peaceful place that was her mind. Hopefully Patrick would leave her alone after she had slapped him. He hadn’t done anything wrong, just trying to give her a comforting hug. But Katherine was so startled at the gesture that her reflexes reacted with violence.

“I’m sorry...for...uh...trying to hug you.”

Katherine sighed, sinking farther down the wall. “It’s fine.”

“It’s just that I’m…I’m a big hugger and I thought you needed some sympathy. I probably should have asked…”

“It’s fine.”

“I know, but you’ve been hurt. Probably much more than I have. I really should have--”

“It’s fine, Patrick.”

“You sure?”

“It’s fine.”

She heard Patrick suck in a breath. The steady tapping continued.

\--OoO--OoO--OoO--

“Katherine?”

She didn’t reply.

\--OoO--OoO--OoO--

“Katherine? Please answer me.”

“What?” She snapped, glaring daggers into the darkness.

“Listen, we’re going to be stuck in here all night...probably...and I know I’m not getting any sleep tonight. You don’t seem like you are either. Uh...how about we uh...we just talk?”

“Why?”

“We’ve got nothing better to do.”

Katherine couldn’t come up with any good excuses to not talk to the guy. “Fine.”

“So...uh...what do you want to talk about?”

“I dunno.”

The room fell silent for a few seconds. “Well, you have to like music, right? That’s why…that’s why you’re here, right?”

“I guess.”

“So...what kind of music do you listen to?”

“Variety...indie rock, grunge…” She exhaled. “You?”

“Pop, punk, rock.” He began tapping his foot again. “Grunge is cool. Which bands?”

She fished her mind for any traces of bands she liked. At this point, she mainly remembered songs, distant melodies--not band names. “ _Nirvana’s one_ I remember... _Alice in Chains_? Also _Led Zepplin_...but that’s not a grunge band...I don’t think…”

“ _Nirvana’s cool_. I listen to more...like... _Twenty One Pilots_ , _Taylor Swift_... _Panic! at the Disco_.”

“ _Panic! at the Disco_?”

“Yeah...what about ‘em?”

“I think I met one of their members at a festival. Brendon...Brendon…”

“Urie?”

“Yeah. He’s a douche.” Patrick didn’t reply. “...Patrick?”

“Why is he a douche?”

Katherine shrugged. “I dunno…I think it was his personality. It rubbed me the wrong way...I also think I remember him spilling beer on me. It was right before my band’s performance.” She let out a quiet chuckle. “It looked like I pissed myself.”

“You’re in a band?”

“I was...” She quickly corrected him. “I don’t want to talk about it.”

“O-okay.”

“Their set was okay, though...I guess.”

“Yeah…” Patrick sighed. “So...um...what’s your favorite series?”

“ _Harry Potter_.” Katherine blurted it out before she realized, and Patrick laughed lightly.

“I like _Harry Potter_. Didn’t read the books, though.”

“How dare you...”

“I just never got around to it...I was always busy.”

Katherine raised her eyebrows and hugged her knees to her chest. “Well, if you aren’t a huge fan of HP, then what’s your favorite series?”

“ _Star Wars_. Without a doubt.”

“Never seen it.”

“Never?”

“Never.”

“...how?”

Katherine laughed. “Never got around to it...too busy, yanno?”

\--OoO--OoO--OoO--

“This is really, really off topic...but how long have you been a prisoner here? Cause...I dunno...nobody is in my cell...normally.” Katherine gnawed on her nail, hoping the question didn’t invade Patrick’s privacy too much. They had been talking for an hour, and they were beginning to run out of get-to-know-me questions.

“Well, I was a prisoner for--like--two days...then I wasn’t...but then I always was?” He sighed. “It’s complicated…how about you? If you don’t mind me asking.”

“No, it’s cool. Uh...I don’t really know, to be honest. Two--three months, maybe?”

“Shit.”

“What?”

“You’ve been here forever.”

Katherine glanced down at her lap, aimlessly picking at calloused fingers. “Yeah, I guess I have. I just lose track of time...sometimes...I guess…”

“Are you crying?”

Tears were welling up in her eyes. “N-no.”

“Yes, you are…

“No, I’m not...I swear.”

Patrick hesitated for a moment. “Um, can I--can I hug you?”

She nodded. “Y-yeah.”

After a few seconds of shifting, she felt two arms being wrapped around her, squeezing her body tight. She lifted up her arms and embraced him. His hand began to slowly rub her back.

No...was it a hand? It didn’t feel like a hand…

She pulled away.

“Your hand feels weird.”

“Oh...yeah...sorry...it’s gone. They cut it off.”

“Oh my god.”

“My friend Pete handcuffed the briefcase--the one they wanted--to my hand. The only way to get the damn thing off was to remove my hand.” He chuckled under his breath, the sounds of him being on the verge of tears conveying itself in the laughs. “Guess I’m really a Stump now, huh?”

She laughed, her lips turning into an unfamiliar smile. “Yeah.” Silence and tension permeated the air, and she spoke up again. “My band--the one I mentioned earlier--we were taken together.” Patrick didn’t reply. “We were little-known. Alternative rock. I was the bassist...we were…uh, just famous around the Seattle area.” She exhaled. Patrick was listening attentively, analyzing every word that came out of her mouth. “We wanted to get signed to this label. We went to go do a live show for the CEO.” She started crying again. Why couldn’t she stop crying? She just wanted to tell a goddamn story. “The record label wasn’t an actual label…but a cult.”

“Oh…”

“They k-killed Ben. He was the only guy--our drummer. Guess they didn’t want any guys in the cult at the time. The rest of us, they tried to turn us. The guitarist…Sophia…was the first to give in. Then it was our vocalist, Maddie.” She slumped herself lower against the wall. “I’m the only one left.”

“I’m so, so sorry Katherine.”

“I don’t need your sympathy.” She snapped suddenly, causing Patrick to jump. “It’s not going to change anything. Tomorrow I’ll be tortured, then I’ll be put back here. Eventually I’ll break. Then I won’t even remember anything. Nobody will care besides you.”

“I-I…”

A wave of guilt smashed her in the face, and she shook her head. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to…I’m just so used to nobody being there.”

“It’s fine.” Silence overcame the two once more, and for a moment, she didn’t think either would speak again. “Do they…do they feed us?”

“Sometimes.”

“When’s the last time you ate?”

“A few days ago…maybe. You?”

“Yesterday.”

She scoffed. “Lucky.”

“Well, it wasn’t very good food.”

“But it was food.”

“True…”

\--OoO--OoO--OoO--

“What’s your favorite breakfast food?”

She bit the inside of her cheek in thought. “Probably…pancakes.”

“Really?!” Patrick laughed.

“What’s wrong with pancakes?”

He sighed. “I dunno…it’s just they’re like…the most basic breakfast food ever.”

“Well, I was a vegetarian…I’m pretty sure.”

“Ah, that would make sense.”

Katherine sat in thought for a moment, resting her chin on her palm. She gasped.

“What?”

“I have no clue what you look like.”

Patrick laughed. “True.”

“So, tell me, Patrick Stump.” Her voice switched to that of a reporter’s. Though Patrick wouldn’t be able to see, she held her hands up as if she would be taking intricate notes on every word he said. “What are your physical features?”

She could practically sense his eye roll. “Well…I’m really, really short.”

“How short?”

“I think…the last time I went to the doctor’s…I was five-five?”

Katherine’s eyes widened. “That’s short.”

“I know.” He cleared his throat. “I have dirty blonde--strawberry blonde-ish hair. Hazel-ish eyes.” Katherine drifted off into thought, trying to picture the man she had been talking to. She found it rather hard. She needed more details.

“Hold on--I’m imagining…how long is your hair?”

“Pretty short. But I’ve got bangs.”

“Two-thousand-nine Justin Bieber bangs?”

Patrick cracked up laughing. “Oh god no. Mine don’t go all the way around. Not as long.”

“Kay--got it.”

“Um, I’m average weight…I guess. And my nose is pretty big.” He laughed, before leaning back against the wall. “Add a fedora and glasses--I normally wear those. And…I think that’s everything...you got a good picture?”

“Sort of…” Katherine cleared up the picture in her head, putting it into focus and BAM! it was there. “Wow. You look awesome.”

The two chuckled in unison. “Thanks.”

“And you’re the lead singer in a pop-punk band? You don’t look it.”

“...is that a compliment?”

“Oh yeah.”

He stifled a laugh, and his voice--she noticed--switched to the reporter’s as well. “What about you, Katherine? Tell me of your physical attributes.”

She shook her head, trying to picture the last time she had looked into a mirror. It had been a few weeks. “Uhm…I guess I’m medium sized…five-seven...I’m pretty sure--”

“Damn it!” Patrick muttered under his breath.

“--and I’ve got blonde hair, brown eyes.”

“Hair length?”

“Used to be super long--curly...but they cut it.” Katherine reached her hands up to feel the tips of her hair. “It goes to my shoulders now. No bangs.”

“I think I’ve got your face.”

“Cool…um…”

“Nose? Mouth?”

She gnawed on her lip. “Um, my nose is average…I guess? Lips are pretty thin, from what I remember.”

“Awesome. I got ya.” He went silent for a few moments.

“Well?”

“You look really, really pretty, Katherine.”

She laughed. “But that’s me without the scars and all.”

“Whatever… I’m sure you still look great.”

“Ehhhhhhhhh.”

“Shut up.” Patrick laughed, playfully slapping Katherine on the arm. She flinched, rolling her eyes at the supposedly short man. “I can’t wait to see you…you know… not in an imaginary way.” He chuckled sheepishly. Katherine rested her head on his shoulder.

“I got ya. Same.” She hugged her knees to her chest, tapping the front of her foot on the ground. “What’s your favorite TV show?”

“ _Doctor Who_.”

“Mine’s _Parks and Rec_ … I’ve heard of _Doctor Who_.”

“It’s so great.”

“I should check it out sometime.”

“You need to. But watch _Star Wars first_.”

Katherine rolled her eyes. “Will do.”

\--OoO--OoO--OoO--

The two were laying flat on their backs, gazing upwards to where the ceiling was. They didn’t know what they were staring into, other than the dark abyss that engulfed the room. Katherine shifted slightly, leaning her head to the side.

“What’s the world like? Now, I mean.”

“...what do you mean?”

“Has anything changed?” He didn’t reply. “Music, world news, not that I would remember much beforehand. But…I’m just curious.”

“Curiosity’s a dangerous thing, Katherine.” He said it in a playful way, jokingly. But she couldn’t help but take this single sentence into a lot of consideration. She had always been curious. Curious about the new record label in town. Curious about who those cult-members were and why they did what they did. She laughed slightly.

“Maybe it’s what got me this far in the first place. Why it’s taking me so long to give in.”

“That’s a good way to think about it.”

“Huh?”

“That you’re different. You won’t conform. You’re stronger than all of those other girls.”

She rolled her eyes again, turning her head in the general direction of Patrick’s voice. “Trust me--I’m not strong. Honestly, I’m surprised I’m still sane--if you can even call me that. I’m surprised I haven’t become one of them.”

“Do you want to be one of them?”

Did she? The girl gnawed on her lip anxiously, her mind twisting and turning in thought. Then, she came to her decision.

“I don’t know.” She paused, her toes aimlessly wiggling and brushing the chilled floor. “I mean, I don’t want to hate music. It’s my life. The only thing that’s spoken to me.”

“I can relate to that.” Patrick muttered, almost inaudibly, under his breath.

“But, I can’t continue loving music when I’m trapped here… It would be nice to forget about it and not have to worry about keeping my morals. Start over, yanno?”

“Hmm.”

“Would you want to change? Be one of them?”

“No. Music is my passion. I’m not going to give up on it so easily.”

\--OoO--OoO--OoO--

“Hmm…” Katherine inquired, running her calloused fingers along the hem of her shirt. Her back was pressed up against Patrick’s as they leaned onto each other for support in the surrounding darkness. “Are you...a dog or a cat person?”

“Dogs for sure. I have two back home...actually.”

Katherine smiled, letting out a small chuckle. “Nice. Dogs are great. I’ve never had one, though. My family was against pets...and I got really busy with my...band...so yeah.”

“I see…”

“What kind of dogs do you have back home?”

“Well, I have a golden retriever named Roxy...she’s seven, I think. Her birthday was last month...”

“Aww…”

“...and Elvis--he’s a bulldog. Little puppy.” Patrick laughed lightly. “Named him after Elvis Costello...you have to know who he is…”

The name of the singer sounded familiar to Katherine, and she nodded her head in recognition. She remembered someone--Maddie, probably--talking about him once or twice. “I’ve heard of him.”

“Great singer...I got to work with him a while back. He’s a huge inspiration for me.”

Katherine grinned. “That’s awesome.” She adjusted herself to sit more upright; she had started to slip lower and lower onto the slippery ground. “If I had a dog...I’d want it to be a guy...a maltese. I’ve always liked malteses. Probably name him Leo.” She bit the inside of her lip. “I dunno, I just really like the name.” Patrick made a quiet noise of approval, and the two were plunged into silence, the only sound being their calm breaths forming unseen puffs of cold air.

“Ooh! Question…” Patrick blurted suddenly, causing Katherine’s eyes to widen. “What is the best family meal you’ve had...that your remember....of course…”

“Would it be cliche if I said Christmas dinner?” The blonde giggled. “Christmas is so great, plus we always have ham and shit. I hate turkey.”

“Aw, why? Turkey’s great.”

“It’s too bland.”

“That’s why you add gravy.”

“Gravy’s too sweet.”

Patrick’s head was shaking, rubbing against the back of her head. “I disagree, but whatever you say.” He stopped shaking his head, and his tone lit up immediately. “You know, my mom makes these really, super delicious pumpkin squares for Thanksgiving every year. They’re so good--I wish I had some right now…”

Katherine started to believe that talking about food in the position she was in wasn’t one of the brightest ideas. Her stomach started to grumble, and she heaved out a sigh.

“Great--now I’m starving.”

\--OoO--OoO--OoO--

At one point, they fell asleep, with Patrick sprawled in the middle of the concrete floor. Katherine was taking short breaths that sounded almost like snoring, her limp body propped against the wall again. It was a peaceful scene, with Katherine in her bliss and Patrick’s chest rising and falling to a steady beat. It was an incredibly peaceful scene...until Patrick bolted upright into a sitting position, his eyes wild and angry.

Katherine shot her eyes open, brows in a knot at the sudden growling sound at the center of the room.

“Patrick?”

More growling.

“Pat--Patrick? Are you still here?”

He couldn’t have left--she would have woken up even earlier to the block door creaking open and to the sounds of Patrick’s struggling. So, Katherine came to the conclusion that Patrick was here...but someone else had joined their company.

“Patrick?”

The third time she inquired the singer, she felt hands being pressed against her throat. Her head smashed against a wall, and the blonde let out a croaking shriek. Her head was screaming, lightheadedness filled her senses. Those hands felt familiar...the cold, yet soft fingers…but they were so foreign. Katherine continued to struggle, until a revelation popped into her head.

It was only one hand.

One hand, and a stump.

“Patrick!” She croaked in confusion, her lungs gasping and pain shooting up through her body like a wave. “Patrick! S-stop!”

There was only grunting in return, and Katherine’s mindset switched gears into panic. It was like she was being tortured by those girls again, but she couldn’t see them. Normally she could see whoever was hurting her, and despite her knowing that the fingers pressed onto her throat belonged to a man she thought cared about her, she didn’t know this man. This wasn’t Patrick. The short, fedora wearing singer wasn’t the person attempting to kill her.

“Patrick!” She cried out one last, futile time, and then it stopped. A painful gust of air flew into her lungs and she fell forward, heaving large gasps and squeezing her eyes shut, tears falling like a downpour. “P-Patrick.”

He was less than a foot from her, and the paranoia that had already built up in Katherine’s stomach flashed red warning lights in her head. He could attack at any moment. _You should get up and run as far away as you can. Hurry!_

But then the sirens dimmed, and Katherine could hear a faint sobbing overpowering the fear in her conscience. Her breathing slowed to a steady inhale, a steady exhale. The sirens’ volume lowered, the sobbing becoming louder. Eventually, the sirens came to a halt, and Katherine came to the realization that Patrick was sobbing. Why was he sobbing?

“Patrick? W-what happened?” She didn’t dare move from her spot, the back of her mind still clinging to the idea of him attacking her again.

“Holy smokes--I’m so--I’m so, so sorry.” He gasped between each individual sob. “I almost did it again-- _holy shit_ I almost did it again. Holy shit--”

“Did what?”

“I almost killed--I almost killed you!” His sobbing had stopped, but Katherine could tell by his tone that the tears were still streaming. “I almost killed someone I care about--again! _Holy shit, holy shit_ …”

“Patrick, P-Patrick...shh.” Katherine cautiously shuffled over to the sobbing singer, laying a trembling hand softly on his spine. Patrick shot up, Katherine’s stomach acids rising in fear again. But Patrick was silent. He didn’t move.

“I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean--I-I didn’t mean to.”

“What do you mean, ‘you didn’t mean to’?” Katherine fumed, taking her hand off of his back and glaring into his general direction.

“I-I don’t even know.” He inhaled sharply. “They d-did this to me. They messed with my organs and shit, and--and--and p-programmed me to kill my own best friend and I-I don’t know!” Katherine’s breath quickened with his, and before she could interrogate him further he continued. “I fall into these t-trances sometimes--I don’t even remember what I do when I’m in them- and I apparently just get really, really angry. I get violent, and people--my own...my own band--is afraid of me...” Patrick was sobbing into his shirt, and Katherine’s hand was still resting inches above his back. She debated lowering it again, offering him the closure and comfort he had offered her earlier. But still, what if he attacked her again?  
Suddenly, the blonde was engulfed into a hug that made her anxiety explode once again. “I’m sorry...It’s--It’s all my fault.”

“N-no…” Katherine trailed off, beginning to rub circles into the singer’s back. “It’s their fault. They did this to you...it’s not in your control.” She bit her lip, not knowing how to continue. She hadn’t done anything like this before. Her only reference point on how to make anyone feel better was when Patrick had been helping her earlier. But she hadn’t tried to kill him. In a desperate attempt to help the sobbing celebrity hugging her, she fished her mind for anything that could help him. “Do you...do you want to...maybe...talk about it?”

Patrick was silent for a moment, but then she felt him nod into her shoulder. He pulled away from the hug, sobbing for another few seconds before spilling out a detailed story of pain and misery. Every so often Patrick would stop to splutter a few tears, but as the story went on, the tears and sobs escaping his throat became sparse. The whole time Patrick went on and on, Katherine sat in awe of the man. She thought her life was miserable, she thought she had hit rock bottom, but Patrick’s confession was worse than she perceived any human--any creature on this Earth could endure. She was speechless when he finished his shaky story with a few sharp inhales and repeating ‘I’m sorry’’s and pulling Katherine into yet another hug.

“It’s not your fault.”

“Then why was I the one to kill Joe, Katherine? Why did I lead them to that hospital?”

“Because those girls made it their mission to make your life hell.” Katherine shook her head. “Everything you said...it leads back to them.”

“But I...I alone caused more than enough damage to our band. P-Pete and Andy...I don’t want them to experience any more pain--I don’t want them to go through anything else. I don’t want...don’t want anyone to go through anything bad anymore…” Patrick sighed, and Katherine heard the first sob in a while escape his lips. “It’s too late. I’ve ruined everything--our band, their lives, my life.”

“No--I’m sure Andy and Pete forgive you...they have to understand.”

“You’re probably right.” Katherine smiled, getting a slight impression that her lame excuse for a pep talk worked on Patrick. “They’re p-probably in town right now, l-looking for me. Hell, they’re probably fighting, they’re trying to get me out of here.” The way Patrick’s tone changed so suddenly drained Katherine’s hope, and her brows furrowed at the venting man. “But it’s no use. I’m...I’m not worth saving--I’ll just make their lives worse and worse.” Patrick’s voice crescendoed as he rambled on. “I’m just like them--th-those girls. I’m a monster, Katherine. I’m a menace and a danger to society and--”

“Patrick, listen to me.” A tense silence fell over the room, and Katherine’s eyes were downcast. Even though she couldn’t see Patrick in front of her, her eyes went up and met his. “You are not a monster. Patrick, you--you are nothing like those girls. If anything, you’re the opposite. You...you’ve gone through hell and back but you still want...you still want to fight back.” Katherine took in a shaky breath. She may have been saying this blindly--Hell, she had only known the man for a good five hours, but if he had gone through all the shit he went through and still came through kicking, what she was saying had no chance of being wrong.

“Patrick…Patrick...you are a hero.”

“Katherine…no…”

“--Shut up.”

“But--”

“Patrick.”

“...yes?”

“You are the bravest person I have ever met.”

“I doubt that.”

“I’m serious, ‘Trick.” She shook her head slightly, gingerly resting it back on the wall. “I wish I could have stayed so strong after everything I’ve gone through.”

Patrick didn’t reply, and a steady tapping of his foot against the concrete echoed around the room.

\--OoO--OoO--OoO--

With Katherine’s paranoia and Patrick’s endless pondering, neither of them showed much chance of drifting into sleep again. Patrick was still tapping, and Katherine started to feel that she was going to go even more insane from the ticking sound. She had been thinking too, thinking about Patrick, and what he had gone through. She had been thinking about what she had done to fight back, and what she hadn’t done.

“I want to be free, Patrick...I really do.”

Silence overcame the room, and Katherine began to fear that Patrick would ignore her and continue to mind his own business. But, the tapping stopped and Patrick’s voice--hoarse from sobbing--rung through her ears. It had a newfound confidence, and it dawned on Katherine that Patrick had come to his senses and possessed a newfound hope that Katherine had yet to find.

“Then fight back.”

“But I can’t--they’ll kill me.”

“Then...then you still wouldn’t have given in...that counts for something.”

“But what if I can’t. What if I break down and I’m scared and--”

“You won’t.”

She rolled her eyes. “How do you know?”

“I just do…” He pauses. “We can get out of here.”

“How?”

Patrick clearly hadn’t thought out a plan. She could hear him tapping his foot on the ground, and she sighed impatiently. “Oh! My friends…my friends are coming.” His voice was melancholy, and Katherine frowned.

“Yes, I know.”

“If they survive--if I survive--I promise I will get you out of here. They’ll come pick me up, but I…I won’t leave without you.”

“Patrick, you don’t--”

“Yes, I do. Katherine, you never deserved any of this. You deserve to be yourself. You deserve to be home...with your family. You may not remember it but you have one, and you need to be with them.” He spoke, unwanted distress leaking from his vocal chords. The man began to pant, his lungs filling and deflating with intense, shallow breaths.

“How are we going to pull this off?”

Patrick laughed slightly. “I have absolutely no clue. But we will…trust me.”

\--OoO--OoO--OoO--

Some time later, Katherine did drift back into a dreamless sleep. She didn’t know if it was because she knew that Patrick was more stable now, or that she was just too tired to continue being anxious, but she was back in her bliss. Patrick, however, stayed up, thinking and composing plans of escape in the morning.

When Katherine awoke sometime around morning with a jolt sounding through the room, the block door slamming shut, she shot up. “Patrick?”

No sound was heard, other than the humming of the AC and the girl’s steady breathing. Katherine felt an uncomfortable, mellow feeling in the pit of her stomach, and she called the singer’s name once more. He didn’t reply.

“Patrick?” She took a heavy breath, and she knew what had happened to him.

Patrick was gone.

\--OoO--OoO--OoO--

Pain.

It erupted from her body, causing her to convulse and cry out. Her head was pounding at the speed of her quickening heart rate, her fingers trembling in constant fear. She wanted to squeeze her eyes shut, let the tears threatening to leak fall from her eyes. She wanted to sleep. But the wires kept her eyes open and staring at the pale ceiling, which was illuminated by images of the cult destroying instruments--destroying people and everything music related in sight. It was sickening.

Over the pain, she heard screaming...people were screaming at her. She couldn’t make out much of what they were saying, but she was sure that it was those girls commanding her to give in to the cult. The pain, the screaming, the pain, the videos--it was all too much. She cried out again, her screams bouncing off of the ceiling and ringing through her ears on an endless loop.  
She wanted it to end. She wanted out. She wanted to give in, to make it all stop.

But, then she remembered Patrick’s promise. He would get her out of here. She just had to stay strong. She couldn’t give in, as much as the girls screaming and the pain flowing from head to toe begged her to.

On the unpredictable screen of projected images above her, a bass guitar flashed quickly and she found herself thinking over the screams and the pain. She remembered running onstage with Maddie and Sophia and Ben. She was strumming the thick strings of her Fender bass, bobbing her head up and down to the hissing snare and crashing cymbals. They were playing one of their songs at a festival...the crowd was cheering...they were having the time of their lives.

A sharp blade dug into her forearm. Maddie and Sophia had left her. Ben was dead.

She yelped loudly, but the blade dug deeper into her skin and a high pitched voice shouted in her ear.

“Silence the noise!”

The crowd was silent, tension filling the air. They were waiting for the band to play their initial guitar riff. Katherine was thirteen. It was her favorite band. It was her first concert. Her mother had bought her the tickets for her previous birthday, and she was so psyched that she had even set up a countdown on her calendar. Her best friend had come too, and they were sporting t-shirts for the band. The two were on their toes...in the pit...right at the front. The lights flashed on in a moment, and music rung through the stadium--

Those girls screamed in her ears again, and the blade made another incision on her forearm. One of the girls dug their nails into Katherine’s forehead. They yelled at her, using their techniques of persuasion to get her to pledge her allegiance to Courtney Love. She didn’t want to--she wanted to get out of this. She couldn’t take any more--

\--the band was playing their hit song...Katherine and her friend were bouncing up and down to the singer’s words. They were grinning from ear to ear, and the singer pulled the microphone out of its stand. He leaned forward to the crowd, and his hand brushed against Katherine’s. She screamed...in joy. She was so happy then--

The girls were bending her arm in a way it wasn’t supposed to. She didn’t like this. She was angry and upset and tears were streaming down her face and she just wanted to curl into a fetal position and die. She yelped and begged for mercy, for them to let her go--

\--Katherine was peering over to the stage, and suddenly a strong bass was humming under her feet. It shook the stadium, made her heart pump faster in her chest and her eyes darted over to stage right. The bassist was there--a long-haired boy with ginger hair and the proudest smile she had seen on anyone in her life. She observed the way his fingers traveled up and down the frets, his other hand sliding the pick across steel strings. The bass was powerful, it was beautiful. It was then she decided she wanted to learn bass. She wanted to make people feel the beat pumping through their body. She wanted people to experience the music, not just listen to it.

She couldn’t give in. She loved music. It was the reason she was still alive.

“No! I-I’ll never--I’ll n-never g-give in!” Pain shot up through her arm again. “N-n-no!”

Pain and screaming and the images filled her body, making her shake and tremble. Her body was a mess; the movements she was making would cause anyone to think she was about to break. But her mind kept flickering on and off to the memory of her first concert--how playing the bass and moving people with the soft humming was her motivation.

The pain didn’t go away; if anything it got worse. The neon image of girls dressed in black smashing a bass played over and over in her brain and the screaming and persuading filled her brain with crumpled chaos and she didn’t want to give in. Katherine wanted to remember, she wanted to be strong, she wanted to show them that torturing her would never change her, but there was a large snap that rung over all of the war echoing in her mind.

The pain was too much.

Her brain went blank, the emptiness slowly wrapping itself in endless layers around her mind. Her body went almost still, the only movement being the uneven rise and fall of her chest. Had she had enough? Was it time to give in?

\--OoO--OoO--OoO--

Patrick ran a trembling hand through his hair, flinching when he felt the blood embedded in it. He carefully slipped the guitar strap off of his shoulder and turned to the scene in front of him. Even though the main threat was gone, the room still echoed with the sounds of pain and misery. Bodies--dead and dying--littered the blood-stained flooring of the warehouse. The few who had survived the attack without any harm had already left. Gone to go to the police, the hospital, to talk to their families. Of the four who had been the heroes, two of them stayed back. Joe and Andy had gone to speak to the police officers who had just arrived minutes earlier. They would be coming in soon, to survey the bodies and interrogate the survivors.

“Hey, ‘Trick...let’s get out of here.” Pete strutted over to the singer and patted him gently on the back. Patrick shook his head, stepping away from Pete’s comfort.

“No, Pete. I’ve gotta do something.”

“What? What’s wrong?”

Patrick sighed, his eyes scanning the bodies lying across the room. “I need to find her.”

“Who?”

“Katherine. I need to find Katherine.”

“I’m sorry--who?”

The singer shook his head, turning to his friend. He was coated from head to toe in blood, his bass slung off of his right shoulder. “When I was kept prisoner here, there was a girl--Katherine. She had been here for months. I promised I’d help her get out.”

Pete furrowed his brows, and took a quick scan of the room. “What did she look like?”

Patrick shut his eyes, trying his best to pull up the mental photograph of how Katherine had described herself. _Short, curly blonde hair. Brown eyes. Taller than me…_  
“She has curly blonde hair. Kind of tall.”

Pete chuckled, but kept his serious expression. “That’s vague.”

The singer’s eyes were downcast. “Well, I...I didn’t really see her. It was dark in the room. We described ourselves to each other…I don’t know.”

Pete shook his head. The two split up, Pete going to look outside. Patrick tiptoed his way around the rubble and mess, failing to see any strands of blonde curl, any shocked, open brown eyes. Then, he heard someone choke out a sob. The singer whipped himself around to face whoever was there, and straightened his back when he saw two girls--the ones that had taken him away from the cell a few days previous--crouching over a body. They were wearing white now--all of the Vixens had turned good, their brainwashing being undone by the power of their music. Patrick tilted his head to the side, and carefully, quietly, scuffed his feet over to them.

“Um…hi…” The two girls looked up to him. Mascara and eyeliner formed zig-zagged lines down their cheeks, and one of them--a brunette with pale skin and small eyes--sniffled. “Do you happen to know a Katherine? I-I’m looking for her.”

The redhead buried her head in her hands and started bawling, tears slipping through her cupped hands. “How do you know Katherine?”

“I met her…a few days ago. Have you seen her?”

A single tear slipped down the brunette’s cheek. She looked up, biting hard on her lip. Patrick’s stomach twisted itself into knots.

She stood up, gesturing to the dead body they had been crying over. Patrick didn’t want to look. But, lying there, with a gashing wound pouring from her forehead, was a girl. A girl who was taller than him, with bruises and cuts and scars littering her paled arms and legs. Golden ringlets poured out around her head. Her eyes--stark and wide--were blank and glossy. Patrick’s breath hitched in his throat. Tears welled up in his eyes. In a second, he dashed over to the girl, pushing a single curl off of her face. Her face was dotted with freckles and dried tears. Most of the faded freckles had been covered up with dried blood.

“Is this…no…”

“Sh-she was killed by the bird-demon thing.”

Patrick shook his head, tears welling up, and he bit his lip until it bled. He prayed, prayed this wasn’t real. He was still in Heaven. This was his purgatory.

“I promised her, I _promised_ her…”

“Promised her what?”

Patrick tore his eyes away from Katherine, and turned to the two women--her friends, he assumed. The brunette (who had let a few tears slip by now) was comforting the sobbing redhead in her arms. Her head was cocked to the side, her brows furrowed. Patrick took a shaky, stuttering breath.

“I-I met her in the cell. I promised…p-promised her I would h-help her escape. That she didn’t deserve to g-go through this…I c-can’t believe I let her d-d-down.”

The brunette’s eyes softened. She stood up reluctantly, making her way over to Katherine’s body. She smiled down at her, letting a tear drop onto her blood-stained clothes. “Patrick, right?” He nodded. She gestured for him to step closer to the two girls, and he complied. At this point, Pete had returned with Andy and Joe. They were trailing behind, peering past the trio at the dead girl lying at their feet. Patrick sat down with the brunette and the redhead, and Patrick rested his palm on top of her hand. He felt so bad, so ashamed that he let this happen to her. But then his eyes collided with her open brown ones, and he came to yet another realization.

He refused to take his eyes off of the blonde. She had said that he was a hero. He wouldn’t believe her at the time. A hero saved lives...saved the world. But, being a hero wasn’t saving everyone’s lives. It was understanding when to stitch up scars, and when to let them bleed out.


End file.
